


Stiles Gets the Apron in the End

by Sheepnamedpig



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas AU, Gift Fic, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a seasonal thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Gets the Apron in the End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zosofi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zosofi/gifts).



> Written for, titled by, summaried by, and published at the behest of zosofi, because I felt bad for lapsing from my usual stalking routine.

"Presents"

"Check."

"Coal."

"Check."

"List."

"Check."

"On-board entertainment and snacks."

"Check."

"Reindeer."

"Check."

"Sled."

"Check."

"Great," Stiles said brightly. "All systems-"

"Fatsuit."

Stiles flinched and turned to Derek, who was holding up the aforementioned fatsuit on its gaudily decorated hanger. It was just as furry and pungent as usual, the hides indelibly stained with the stench of hundreds of years worth sweating, sooty Santas. Stiles loved being Santa, but he  _despised_  the fatsuit.

Stiles slouched and pouted ridiculously. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd rolled their eyes at each other where they were giving the reindeer one last flight check. The reindeer themselves ignored the unfolding scene, used to Stiles' yearly tantrum.

"Do I have-" Stiles bitched.

Derek cut him off, also used to this particular tantrum. "This is non-negotiable. Just put the damn thing on. Either you wear it or Christmas is canceled."

"I hate it when you put it like that," Stiles groused, stomping over to suit up.

"Whatever gets you in the damn suit." The first year, Derek had coaxed and cajoled Stiles into putting the thing on, but he'd quickly figured out that threatening Christmas itself was by far the faster method.

"We should really figure out a way to make the sled more efficient. Or maybe transfer the glucose conversion spell to something that can be bleached," Stiles said, toeing out of his sneakers and stepping into the pants. His thighs, belly, and ass filled out as he pulled them up and buckled the suspenders over his newly fattened stomach. Derek was just glad that the magic allowed the Under Armour and skin beneath to stretch comfortably. He'd probably never have heard the end of it if Stiles was forced to go commando or got stretch marks.

"You say that every year," Derek replied blandly. He dropped the boots and nudged them over to Stiles, who dutifully stepped into them, bending down over his belly to lace them.

"And I mean it every year."

"And you try it every year. And every year nothing happens."

"Hope springs eternal," Stiles sighed. Curly white hairs were already beginning to peep from his chin and jowls. "I just wish it didn't tingle in strange and not-fun places."

Derek shrugged and handed him the heavy coat, watching Stiles' hair grow long and snowy white as he shrugged it on.

"Y'know," Stiles said, eyes twinkling in a way that was distinctly more Stilesian than Santaish, "We should really see about getting you a nice apron so you can look the part, too."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I have an apron."

"Yeah, and it's so boring and white and shapless it brings me to tears. I meant something nice, something that-" Stiles sketched out an hourglass silhouette in the air "-compliments your girlish figure."

Derek scowled and Stiles laughed.

"Careful, Mrs. Claus," Stiles teased, "Or your face will stick that way. Even more than usual. You might even get  _wrinkles_."

Derek thought of the decorative apron in the wrapped box he'd managed to smuggle into their bedroom and resolved to immediately smuggle it back out. Stiles would just have to go without a sexy present this year.

The clocktower struck the half hour and the buzz of activity kicked up a notch around them. 22:30. Thirty minutes until takeoff.

"Lydia made some last minute changes to the syrup formula for the sled's main fuel tank," Derek reported crisply, centering the large gold buckle of Stiles' belt while holding himself at arm's length. The thing really did reek, especially to his enhanced werewolf senses.

"Yeah. The extra weight will slow me down a little, but I looked at the math and the extra mileage combined with the time I save not having to eat cookies will put me ahead."

Derek's expression darkened. "Eat the damn cookies anyway," he insisted. "If you don't, you can't convert the sugar to fuel the sled and you almost didn't make it back to base last year."

Stiles shrugged and pulled the hat on, tugging the fur brim down to his bushy white eyebrows. "Bad economy. What can you do?" He stuck the gloves in his pocket instead of putting them on. The spell could sit incomplete for a little while longer.

Derek hooked his fingers in Stiles' belt and tugged so they were belly-to-belly, Stiles' bulk against Derek's chiseled abs. "Try not to get shot down by any overeager fighter pilots or paranoid governments this year."

Stiles laughed. It was already more like Santa's trademark  _ho ho ho_  than Stiles' open-mouthed guffaw. "Will do. Or won't do, actually. That sucked."

"And eat the snacks. I doubled the sugar in the recipes just in case."

"Oooh," Stiles purred. "Did you make the triple chocolate caramel brownies?"

"With nuts," Derek confirmed.

Stiles pulled Derek against him by the lapels and rub the tip of their noses together. It, and what Derek could see of Stiles' cheeks above the thick white beard, were rosy red. "Knew I kept you around for a reason. I should probably go before Allison's crazy mom slices the balls from my body."

This was not an idle threat. Victoria Argent, head of North Pole's logistics division, was a tyrant. Derek kissed Stiles on the ruddy nose and stepped away, instantly grateful for the distance between his nose and the fatsuit.

Stiles slid the gloves on as he hopped up into the sled. The red of his suit suddenly looked bolder, the white trim brighter, as the suit's ingrained spell was finally able to take hold. Derek retreated to the observation area with other nonessential personnel. An elf appeared at his elbow and handed him a headset, which he dutifully hooked on. In one ear, he could hear the elves in Mission Control green-lighting the magical subroutines that the sled and its various bits and bobs depended on, and in the other ear, he could hear the hangar door grinding open and the howl of the arctic wind as it swept by.

"Santa, this is Mission Control," Victoria said smartly over the connection. "Do you copy?"

"I copy, Mission Control," Stiles replied. Derek could see his mouth moving in sync, though the ambient noise drowned out his voice.

"All systems are ready for launch, Santa."

"Copy that, Mission Control."

Stiles finally picked up the reins and the magical circuit snapped shut, the spells humming to life. The sled and reindeer lifted smoothly into the air, hooves and runners glowing faintly on their cushions of air.

"Rudolph!" Stiles called. "Give us some light, buddy!"

Rudolph pawed the air and lifted his nose. It began to glow, dimly at first, then brightening until it was too intense to look at directly.

The reins pulled taut as the rest of the reindeer straightened to ready position.

"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!" Santa bellowed. "On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!"

All of Santa's Helpers, elves, shifters, humans, and otherwise, joined in. Even Derek followed along under his breath.

"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

The reindeer strained at their harnesses, speeding from a walk to a trot to a canter even before they'd hit the snow outside. Then they vanished into the night and the swirling snow, visible only to the infrared cameras streaming live to every monitor in North Pole.

The reindeer and sled arced cleanly into the sky, and just before Santa rose out of the cameras' span, they all heard him shout,

_Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!_

 


End file.
